


Recuperation

by Veldeia



Category: Doctor Who, Recovery (TV)
Genre: Brain Damage, Crossover, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-03
Updated: 2009-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veldeia/pseuds/Veldeia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not who he used to be, and somehow, they'll both have to learn to live with it. At least they're not alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recuperation

Oh, dear. Tricia had thought Alan was past randomly harassing passers-by, but she would recognise that figure anywhere, and he was walking so close to a blonde girl that their arms were touching. She had no idea how he'd got there, when she hadn't even seen him walk out of the door.

She dropped the magazine she had been reading, ran over to the pair, and grabbed his shoulder. "Alan, you should know better than to -"

He turned around, and she froze. It wasn't Alan, although the man looked remarkably like him. The same build, the same nose, the same cheeks, but his chin was clean-shaven, and maybe not quite the same shape, and his hair was different, and his eyes - even though the colour was similar, there was something strange and ageless about them that she couldn't quite put a finger on.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you look so much like my husband, I thought - ah, I'm really sorry," she mumbled.

Instead of making some lame "no problem" remark, the couple glanced at each other, both with confused frowns on their faces.

"You don't think -" the blonde said. She was pretty in a girl next door kind of way, and couldn't be much older than twenty. Still, there was something about her, too, lines on her face suggesting that she had been through far more than one would expect of someone her age.

"Naah," the man who wasn't Alan said, in a voice quite different from his.

"It's not impossible, though, is it?" she said.

"As good as," he said, and turned to look at Tricia. "Your husband isn't a doctor, by any chance?"

"Alan, a doctor? Of course not. He used to be the head of a construction firm. Why do you ask?"

The two strangers looked at each other again.

"A construction firm?" the blonde repeated.

"No way. Not me," the man said, shaking his head.

"Definitely not you."

"Well, then, this is quite a coincidence," he said, and without missing a beat, went on to offer Tricia a wide, bright smile, and his hand. "John Tyler. Pleased to meet you."

"Tricia Hamilton," she shook his hand, feeling more than a bit perplexed by the whole exchange.

"Rose Tyler," the blonde introduced herself, and shook Tricia's hand too. "We only just moved into the area, and this was our first time here."

"Ah. We actually moved a few weeks ago, too, but it was just a few blocks from where we used to live. If you're not in a hurry, Alan should be done with his session soon," Tricia said. "Maybe you'd like to meet him?"

**********

Tricia wasn't waiting for him in the chair where she always sat.

"Tricia?" Alan called out, looking around, and spotted her standing in the corridor, not far from him. He walked over to her, wondering why she had strayed from the usual routine.

"I made some new friends while I was waiting for you," Tricia told him, and motioned at the two people next to her. "Alan, meet Rose and John Tyler."

Rose was young and cute, and had a very nice rack, too, but he had learned to keep such remarks, and his hands, to himself. But John - it was strange, like looking into a mirror, only a slightly twisted one. He reached out to touch John's chin, so smooth that his hadn't been like that since he was seventeen.

"Alan, that's not -" Tricia began, in that kind but firm tone Alan knew all too well.

"No, it's all right, I don't mind," John said, smiling, and placed his fingers on Alan's cheek, feeling his beard. "Blimey, this is weird."

The two men let their hands fall and stared at each other.

"You have brain damage, too?" Alan asked.

"What? Oh, right, therapy. No, no, no. They think I have PTSD. Which, obviously, I don't."

"Except that you've got all the symptoms," Rose said.

"No, I don't. Anyway, I can't even get that, because Time -"

"Part human, remember?" Rose interrupted him. Even though the words made no sense, Alan could recognise the tone - kind but firm, just like Tricia's.

John glared at Rose, his earlier smile fading away. "And you just have to rub it in my face, like I don't know it. Like I could forget it even if I wanted to - like I don't feel it every bloody second that passes!" he shouted, jabbing at his chest angrily with his thumb. "I know you'd rather have him than me, and I'm sorry you're stuck with a stupid, useless half-human, but it's not like it was my choice! Why can't you just -" John fell silent mid-sentence, his cheeks flushed, and hung his head.

The silence was loud and heavy. Rose clasped John's hand in hers.

Alan's eyes met Tricia's, and it was one of those rare moments when he knew they were thinking the exact same thing. They had been there, too. At times, they still were. They shared a sad little smile.

"Three c's," Alan muttered under his breath.

"I'm sorry," John said softly, still staring at the tips of his trainers. "I'm not like this, really, I'm not. It's just that sometimes..."

"Don't worry," Tricia told the Tylers. "We understand perfectly."

**********

"There you go," Tricia said, setting a steaming cup of tea in front of Rose.

"Thank you. And thanks for inviting us, I think this is a really good idea," Rose said, looking out of the window, at the Hamiltons' backyard, where Alan and John were sitting on a bench, deep in conversation. "He was... He used to be the most sociable person I've ever known, always eager to meet new people, but now he's so withdrawn, he rarely talks to anyone he doesn't already know."

Tricia sat down opposite Rose, her eyes on the two men as well. "It was the other way around for us. Not that Alan was ever shy or anything, but after the accident, he wouldn't stop talking to every stranger on the street, and you wouldn't believe how he was with girls - completely impossible for the first month or so. Anyway, he's never really been able to compare notes before. We've tried a few support groups, but none of them really worked out for us."

"John would never, ever agree to go to a group meeting," Rose said, even the idea of it making her cringe. The troubled part Time Lord among people struggling with all-human mental problems - no, it would only make things worse. "I doubt I can even convince him to keep up the therapy."

"Oh? What're you going to do, then? Because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you need help. You can't manage all on your own, no matter how hard you try."

"Well, the thing is," Rose began, not quite sure what she was going to say. She couldn't tell the whole truth, obviously. Tricia wouldn't believe it even if she did. Still, the Hamiltons were nice people, and she hated feeling like they were lying to them. "The thing is, what's wrong with John, it's not really PTSD. I mean, he probably has that, but it's... It's very complicated. He really, concretely used to be someone else. Someone truly extraordinary. And now, even though he's still amazing, he's... Well, he's only human, and he knows it, and he knows I know it, and it's..."

"Believe me, I know how you feel. I don't know what's happened to your John, and Alan has never been anything but ordinary, but I know what it's like to realise that the man you loved isn't there anymore, and never will be."

"Yeah, I believe you, but it's not that." Rose took a sip of her tea, again struggling to come up with the right words. "Tell me, if you knew that the Alan from before was somewhere out there, I mean, truly there, a separate person, just the way he used to be - what would you do?"

Tricia let out a sound that wasn't quite a chuckle, and shook her head. "That's a really strange question. I guess I'd... I know that Alan needs me, the way he is now, and he loves me, and I do love him, but if I could have him back the way he was before... It's selfish and I'm probably a bad person for saying this, but of course I would want the old Alan back."

"And then imagine he was somewhere so far away that you could never meet him again, with a whole new life you'd never hear anything about, but there, nevertheless, all real, alive and kicking."

"This has to be the weirdest metaphor I've heard, because I have no idea what you're talking about." Tricia frowned at Rose, probably thinking she might not be quite right in the head, either. "Honestly, I have no idea what I'd do. It would probably drive me crazy, knowing he's out there and not being able to see him. And if Alan knew about him, too, that would completely break his heart..."

Rose found herself fighting back tears. "Yeah, it does," she mumbled.

"Then again, if he were that far away, it wouldn't be any different from the way things are now, would it? Is that what you were after, just paraphrasing the situation? The old Alan would still be nothing more than a memory, a dream, while the new one is right here with me. I'd have to stick to what I have, instead of pining for something that's gone forever. That's just the way it is."

As much as it hurt to hear that, Rose felt strangely relieved as well. "I guess you're right."

**********

"So, how long's it been for you?" Alan asked.

"Two months," John answered. It felt like much longer than that.

"Six for me. It was much worse in the beginning. At first, I couldn't even recognise my wife or my children. Most of the memories have come back by now, but still, it's never going to be the same - I'm never going to be the same."

John let his gaze wander over the small yard, the slightly overgrown lawn, the child playing not far from them, the cloudy sky above. "I remember everything, and always will. I almost wish I didn't," he said softly. "Or that she would forget... It would make things easier."

"There's that feeling you get, when she looks at you," Alan said, clearly as lost in his thoughts as John was. "You know she sees someone else, someone she would rather have, and you know you can never be that someone, no matter how hard you try."

John felt his breath catch in his throat. That was precisely the way he felt about Rose. How could this human understand him so well? He would never have expected to find anyone who could - but of course, Alan didn't really understand him. No one could.

What John and Rose had told Alan and Tricia was that John had been in a war and was seriously traumatised by the experience, which wasn't that far from the truth. Still, it was ridiculous, so very human, to suggest that he had anything in common with this man. To compare him with a former construction chief who had been run over by a truck - he who had the mind and the memories of someone over nine hundred years old, who would still think of himself as the Doctor if he didn't concentrate on being John, who deep down cherished his true, Gallifreyan name.

He was still part Time Lord, and all the things he could remember, even though he had never really done any of them, not in this body, they had still happened to him. He had stood in front of the Untempered Schism and seen the whole of the time vortex - he could remember that day, the adult Time Lords, tall and solemn next to him in their colourful robes, which he had always found silly and pompous, the faint smell of flowers in the air, the twilight, all the stars in the light orange sky, the vortex glowing brighter than any of them ever would, the beauty of it, and the dread, and he can feel golden tendrils reaching out of the chaos to touch his mind, tempting, but burning like a thousand suns, and he turns on his heel and runs, runs as fast as his small feet will carry him, never looking back, all the way -

Someone was shaking him so roughly that his teeth were rattling, and gradually he came to realise that the panicked voice shouting "John, John, John!" was actually addressing him. It was Alan, of course, staring at John, his face wild with anger and fear and worry. They were still sitting on the bench, at the Hamiltons' backyard, on Earth.

John took a few deep breaths. "Sorry, sorry, I'm all right. Just a damned flashback. Never mind."

Alan just kept staring, stock-still, clearly distressed by John's odd behaviour and the complete unfamiliarity of the situation.

"It's all right, Alan," John said, gently moving the other man's hands away from his shoulders. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"All right." Alan nodded slowly, taking deep breaths, too.

Maybe it was true, after all, maybe Rose was right. They were both broken, Alan and him, in completely different ways, but maybe they did have things in common, as well. Maybe they really could understand each other.

"Where did you go?" Alan asked timidly.

"Somewhere so far away that you would never believe if I told you."

"You could still tell me, though. You never know. Maybe I would."


End file.
